Kiss From a Rose
by Allaine
Summary: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn visit Gotham after being absent for over a year.  A sequel to "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses".  Nuff said.
1. Chapter One

Title: Kiss From a Rose (1/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention.   
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: This takes place about 15-18 months after "It's Just Allergies" and "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", which you can read at FFN as well.  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
Summary: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn visit Gotham after being absent for over a year. A sequel to "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses". Nuff said.  
_______________________________  
  
(Author's Note: This is for everyone who hasn't bothered to read about their ongoing adventure in NYC. And for everyone who HAS.)  
  
Chapter 1  
  
"Now Jonesin', you know we had a contract," Ivy reminded him. "Forty-five percent, and I relinquish all copyright and slander claims. Oh right, and I wouldn't kill you, either."  
  
Johnny "Jonesin" Jones, who was an established enough pornographer to operate without breaking too many laws, but still sleazy enough that his office was located in an unsavory part of Gotham, leaned back in his chair. Well, actually he cringed. "Well," he replied, gulping, "I thought those were very fair terms. Especially the, you know, not killing part. What, you want more now?" he whined.  
  
"We want what's ours," Ivy said simply. "The money flowing into our secret accounts has turned into a trickle recently."  
  
"What, you think you two were going to be a hot item forever?" Jones argued.  
  
"It's hard for the _first_ video about us to continue selling," Poison Ivy shot back, emphasizing the word "first", "when you release two follow-up videos. And since you don't appear to have given us our cut on those artistic endeavors . . . I may have to sic the attack dogs on you."  
  
Jonesin', who obviously had been hoping that Ivy would not hear about a couple pornographic movies sold strictly in the Gotham market, broke into fresh layers of sweat. The words "attack dogs" pulled his gaze away from Ivy at last. Instead he looked at Harley Quinn and her "babies". The hyenas grinned at him with their sharp teeth. The only things keeping them in place were the leashes going from their collars to her hand. "Attack dogs?" he said weakly.  
  
"Phew," Harley said, waving her other hand. "He stinks. I think he needs more deodorant."  
  
"Sure thing, dear," Ivy replied sweetly. She yanked out a large atomizer and sprayed a cloud of particles onto the sticky pornographer.  
  
He shrieked and leapt out of his chair, brushing helplessly at his clothes. "Holy shit, they're killing me!"  
  
"Relax, moron, it's just cologne," Ivy muttered.  
  
Jonesin stopped and sniffed his armpits experimentally. "It's not poison?" he asked.  
  
Ivy snorted.  
  
Harley took a whiff. "Ewww," she said, scrunching her nose. "He smells worse now. What did you douse him with?"  
  
Poison Ivy glanced at the bottle. "Oops."  
  
"Oops? _Oops_?!" Jonesin yelped.  
  
"I appear to have sprayed him with Eau de Joker."  
  
"Joker venom?!"  
  
"No, you just smell like him now."  
  
He put his wrist under his nose suspiciously. Joker had a smell? There did seem to be a meaty aroma. "Why would you have Joker scent?"  
  
Harley grinned. "We spray it on tackle dummies and train the babies to rip them to shreds."  
  
Jonesin swallowed. Were those animals - they weren't drooling, were they? Had they been drooling before? Dogs drooled all the time. Didn't they?  
  
Ivy sighed and tossed the bottle into her purse. "Anyway," she said, "where's our money? We want to see your books."  
  
He mustered a glare. "You kidding? I don't even pay my taxes. You expect me to show you my books? Who do you think you are - Batman?"  
  
Harley's eyes gleamed.  
  
"Remember what I said about attack dogs?" Ivy asked softly.  
  
Jonesin watched as Harley allowed the leashes to slacken a little. They instantly stretched taut again as the hyenas drew closer to him, having moved directly from drooling to slavering. Having a "jonesin'" was synonymous with having a "hankerin'", and right now he was a-hankerin' for the front door.  
  
Ivy put her fingers in her mouth and whistled piercingly.  
  
The producer screamed and dove under the desk.  
  
He heard the doors open. "You called?" two voices said in unison.  
  
"Sic'im," she said gleefully.  
  
"Er, who?"  
  
"What - oh, for heaven's sake, this isn't the White House, Jonesin. Get out from under there."  
  
Reluctantly, not hearing the patter of paws charging across his floor, Jonesin struggled out from his hiding place. He gaped at who had entered.  
  
"Jim Apple, Esquire," the first man said, looking extremely natty in black suit and - was that a bowler hat?  
  
"Tim Thorpe, Esquire," the second man said. He happened to be dressed exactly like the first one. In fact, he happened to look exactly like him, too.  
  
"Identical twins at law," Apple and Thorpe added together.  
  
Jonesin just stared at them.  
  
They put identical black briefcases on his desk. "Johnny Jones," Apple said calmly. "Our clients, Pamela Isley and Harlene Quinzell, are suing you for breach of contract." He dropped a thick sheaf of papers onto the desktop. "We might be willing to settle for arbitration in this case."  
  
"On the other hand," Thorpe continued, taking his own papers from his briefcase, "we could just drag you to court." He dropped the bound papers, which was three times as thick as his brother's petition, onto the desk as well. It landed with a resounding thud. "Where we will show the jury what a disgusting piece of filth you are. They'll be eager to find against a smut peddler like you."  
  
"A client so vile he could never hope to win a defamation suit," Apple sighed contentedly. "God, I love my profession at times like this."  
  
"Just how did identical twins get different last names, anyway?" Harley asked, scratching her hyenas' ears.  
  
"We weren't sure which man our father was . . ."  
  
"So I took one name . . ."  
  
"I really didn't want to be known as Jim Thorpe."  
  
". . . and I took the other one."  
  
"Wait - so these are the attack dogs?" Jonesin asked, boggled as he pointed at the twins.  
  
"What, you thought we meant the babies?" Harley asked innocently. "They're not dogs, idiot. They're hyenas."  
  
Jonesin looked at Ivy. "This isn't really Joker smell, is it?"  
  
"Actually, no. You smell like steak now."  
  
He looked back at the hyenas. They definitely weren't feigning interest. He wilted into his chair.  
  
"Of course," Apple, the soul of compromise, said, "it might behoove you to allow us access to all your records regarding the sales of all videos concerning Pamela Isley and Harlene Quinzell, aka Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn . . ."  
  
"Specifically," Thorpe said, looking at a sheet of paper, "such titles as _Pretty Poisons_, _Strawberry Schwing!_, and _Garden of Eatin'_."  
  
Ivy made a disgusted sound.  
  
"Otherwise, we'll sue you to shreds," Thorpe added.  
  
"Find every girl you ever exploited and put her on the stand," Apple said, shaking his head.  
  
"Hey, hey! She wuz blackmailing me!" Jonesin whined. "She said she'd kill me if . . ."  
  
"You didn't have to make the pictures," Ivy replied coldly. "You came to me, remember?"  
  
"Besides, what's one less pornographer?" Harley pointed out.  
  
Ivy opened her cell phone. "Aidan? Ivy. Bring the car around. We've reached an understanding. We'll send you back later for our attorneys. They'll be reviewing Mr. Jones' records."  
  
Jones shoved a threatening finger in her direction, and one of the hyenas snarled at him. He yanked the finger back.  
  
"Good boy," Ivy said sweetly. To who, one couldn't be sure.  
  
When Harley and Ivy strolled out of the building, their pets' tongues lolling out of their mouths, a young man was waiting for them outside of his car. He mumbled something completely unintelligible.  
  
"The hotel, Aidan," Harley told him. "We have a show to catch later tonight."  
  
He muttered something and opened the door for them.  
  
"Harley," Ivy said.  
  
"Yes, Red?"  
  
"Couldn't we have found another driver?" she asked quietly, out of his earshot. "One who we can, you know, understand?"  
  
"Aidan Cavendish is a very good getaway driver," Harley pointed out. "The Joker used him once or twice."  
  
"Yes, but he took a bullet through his cheeks, Harl. And he's British. Either one alone would be a problem. Together, he's absolutely incomprehensible."  
  
"You just have to pretend like you understand what he's saying," Harley replied simply. "Besides, he's the driver. Does he really have anything important to say?"  
  
Ivy thought about this. She had a point.  
____________________________  
  
"Heard who's back in town?" Gordon asked calmly as he leaned against the Bat-signal.  
  
Batman said nothing, evidently keeping his answer in reserve.  
  
"Tim Thorpe and Jim Apple," Gordon said, shrugging. "The Bowler Boys."  
  
"Really?" Batman asked, mildly interested.  
  
"What, you mean you didn't know?" Gordon replied, surprised.  
  
"They haven't been wanted for anything in a few years," Batman said. "And they never were very high on my list. How do you know?"  
  
"One of our boys spotted them arriving at the airport. Flew in from LAX."  
  
Batman nodded. "So Two-Face is bringing in outside help. Whatever his plans are . . ."  
  
"We're not convinced it's Two-Face," Gordon said.  
  
"The Rogues aren't very keen on borrowing each other's modus operandi, Commissioner," Batman pointed out.  
  
Gordon handed him two large black-and-white photos. "They were met at the airport by this woman," he said.  
  
Batman looked at her. Her face largely obscured by dark glasses and a scarf around her hair, she still looked vaguely familiar.  
  
"And this car."  
  
He looked at the second photo. It was a limousine, and sticking out of the back window were . . . he looked again. "I see," he murmured.  
  
"The officer thought it was Two-Face too," Gordon told him. "Because of the two dogs. But those aren't dogs, are they?"  
  
"They're hyenas," Batman confirmed. "And that's Harley Quinn."  
  
"No word on Poison Ivy," Gordon said. "First word on either of them in over a year. We don't know if they've broken up and Harley's come back on her own, or if they're still together."  
  
"They're still together," Batman said. "Trust me, they're still together."  
  
"If you say so," Gordon replied. "Thorpe and Apple are clean. Members of the California state bar, actually. Might be legit."  
  
Batman did not reply. "Thanks," he finally said.  
  
Gordon took the photos back and looked at them. "Are you all right?" he asked. "It's not like you to be out of the . . ." He raised his head. "Loop," he finished, finding himself alone.   
_______________________________  
  
"Gordon seems to think I've been distracted lately," Batman said ten minutes later. "Maybe he's right."  
  
"Well," Selina replied as she sat on the chimney, legs crossed, "I do have an effect on people."  
  
"I should have known about the Bowlers hours ago," he muttered more to himself.  
  
"Batman fails to learn of small-time hoods' arrival within two hours," Catwoman said dryly. "Details at eleven."  
  
Batman glared at her. "Harley and Ivy being back is a lot bigger than two ex-cons. And twins - Two-Face could definitely be involved somehow. Why twins, otherwise?"  
  
"Harvey? And Ivy? Are you kidding? Ivy managed to piss off both halves, remember?" Selina answered. "He would never work with her."  
  
"In that case," Batman replied, "Two-Face might just find them and kill them for changing sides. Which means I have to find him anyway."  
  
"You know," she said, pulling her mask off her head so that it hung limply down her back, obscured by black tresses, "you knew him for years. Would it kill you to refer to him as 'Harvey' just once?"  
  
"Yes," he responded flatly.  
  
She chuckled. "Fine," Selina said. "Maybe I'll just call you 'Batman' from now on. Yes, waiter, reservations for Selina Kyle and Batman at seven."  
  
Batman's mask remained in place, naturally. When Selina took hers off, it meant she was less interested in talking shop and more interested in talking them. When his mask came off, it meant he was going to bed.  
  
Of course, last night this had coincided with the rest of her costume coming off. And the rest of his. And this hadn't been the first time.  
  
He realized she'd said something more, and he'd missed it. She _was_ distracting him. Maybe these last few weeks had been a mistake.  
  
"Hello?" Selina said, breaking his concentration. "Is this that time of night when you ask yourself why you're doing this? Because if it is, I know this lovely little boutique I could be robbing right now."  
  
"You're not helping," Batman grumbled.  
  
"No, I just have a sense of humor," she replied. "The fact that you don't is what's not helping. And I said I _could_ be robbing it right now. If you'd let me finish, I might have pointed out that instead I'm here, and I'm trying not to steal, and okay, maybe I wonder if this was such a good idea too." Exhaling, she ran her gloved fingers through her hair and grabbed the back of her hood to pull it back on.   
  
She let it fall again halfway up, however. "But you let me see your face," Selina added. "Regret that?"  
  
He stared at her. "No," he admitted.  
  
The smile made her face brighten the shadows.  
  
"Is this that time of night I kiss you?" he asked.  
  
"Well, I don't know," she purred. "Why don't you tell me?"  
__________________________  
  
Harvey "Two-Face" muttered to himself as he made his way down the hotel corridor. (He conversed with himself a lot, so this wasn't entirely surprising.) Whoever had brought the Bowler Boys to Gotham must have had a serious bankroll, because he'd tracked them down to one of the best hotels in the city. And they'd taken a room on the twenty-second floor, damn it! It had taken him over an hour to get up here unnoticed. Were these people trying to piss him off?  
  
"Maybe they're going to kill us when we come through the door," Harvey pointed out to himself.  
  
"And maybe we've survived ambushes before," Two-Face growled.  
  
At least his suit was equal to the splendor of his surroundings. His guns were equally expensive, and any guest there would have agreed they looked good in his hands. They'd better, anyway.  
  
"Room 2222," Two-Face snarled. "They are so dead."  
  
"We don't have to go in. Probably a trap. It's a red cape in our face."  
  
"Flip you for it."  
  
Ten seconds later, they smashed their way through the front door. It helped that it was jammed slightly open, but he didn't notice at first.  
  
Two-Face didn't notice the woman on the couch to his right either. His guns only had eyes for the bowler-clad twins on the couch to his left. "You don't call, you don't write, you drop by unannounced," he growled at them. "I thought I deserved better treatment than that."  
  
"You're breaking the law, Harvey," Jim Apple said, unperturbed, as he sipped from a cup of tea. "By pointing those guns at our heads . . ."  
  
"You're obviously intending to put us in reasonable apprehension of bodily harm," Tim Thorpe reminded him. "Which is assault," he added as he drank his black coffee.  
  
"Thanks, boys," he said, cocking the hammers. "If I hadn't been a prosecutor all those years, I might not have known that. I also know that when I pull the triggers, it's first-degree murder."  
  
"Specific intent," Thorpe agreed.  
  
"More than just malice," Apple said.  
  
"Oh, there's malice, too," Two-Face said, smiling.  
  
Poison Ivy entered the room in her dressing gown and sighed. "Christ, Harv, we've been waiting an hour. Put your guns away and sit down already."  
  
Two-Face goggled at her. "Pammy?" he asked, startled. He swiveled around to look at the second woman, whom he'd never noticed before. "Quinn? What the hell did you do to your hair?"  
  
"What?" Harley asked.  
  
"You dyed it brown!"  
  
"Oh," she said, touching her hair self-consciously. "Actually, this is my natural hair. I'm not a, um, real blonde."  
  
He lowered his nine-millimeters finally. "Well," he said slowly, "I guess the blonde stereotype just went out the window."  
  
"Hey! It was an act!"  
  
"Sometimes, anyway," Ivy murmured.  
  
"Again, hey!"  
  
To be continued . . . 


	2. Chapter Two

Title: Kiss From a Rose (2/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention.   
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: This takes place about 15-18 months after "It's Just Allergies" and "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", which you can read at FFN as well.  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
Summary: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn visit Gotham after being absent for over a year. A sequel to "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses". Nuff said.  
_______________________________  
  
Chapter 2  
  
"Whose autograph you want?" the bouncer drawled.  
  
Renee Montoya and Harvey Bullock looked at him dubiously. The mass of people separated before this bruiser, forming two separate lines into the strip club. "Whaddya mean?" Bullock asked.  
  
The bouncer sighed and pointed over his right shoulder. "For Chrissy Skyler," he said. "For Mindy Mattson," he went on, pointing to his left. "You want both, you gotta pay double, wait in line twice."  
  
Bullock muttered deprecations under his breath. "Which is which?" he whispered.  
  
"Who knows?" Montoya replied. "Which one you want?"  
  
"Make up your minds, or go back to the beginning," the balding doorman warned them.  
  
"Mattson," Bullock said instantly, unable to remember the first name for the moment.  
  
"Then I'll take the other line," Montoya sighed.  
  
The bouncer chuckled. "Most girls prefer the other one," he said.  
  
Montoya suppressed a snarl. She was on a line of people waiting to get a female porn star's autograph. She was on duty, but nobody besides Bullock knew that. Considering she was surrounded by people who evidently got their jollies watching two women having sex, she felt uncomfortable letting everyone think she was a lesbian too. "It's for my boyfriend," she hissed.  
  
"Uh-huh," he said, clearly not convinced.  
  
"Why exactly are we doing this?" she wanted to ask Harvey inside. But now they were separated by a yard or two, and she couldn't do so without announcing to the world they were police. And she knew why they were doing this. Because Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn were hiding in plain sight. They were posing as the very porn stars who became infamous for posing as _them_.   
  
It had been a last-minute announcement. Horny Jones Pictures, Johnny Jonesin' Jones proprietor, had let the word out that Chrissy Skyler and Mindy Mattson would be reprising their roles in "Pretty Poisons" in an all-new Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn porno. Interest had died down in the series, but the return of the original stars, widely considered by sleaze connoisseurs to have done the best imitation of the lunatic beauties, had sparked excitement. The duo had made a killing on "private shows" and disappeared from Gotham months before. Evidently "Jonesin" had lured them back. But first they'd be doing an impromptu autograph signing at a local strip joint.  
  
GCPD might have just rolled its eyes and gone about its business (with perhaps a few tongues lolling), but the photos taken of Harley Quinn at the airport had convinced a lot of people that these were not Skyler and Mattson, but the real, live Harley and Ivy. Bullock and Montoya had drawn the assignment - partly because Renee had a history with Ivy.  
  
Not _that_ kind of history, she told herself. Madre Dios, how tongues would wag if someone made up _that_ kind of story!  
  
"And since we've seen them up close so many times," Montoya added mentally, "we'll know if it's them." If they were within Gotham city limits, they were in violation of their immunity agreement. The commissioner could then throw the book at them.  
  
Renee shook her head and tried to look like she wanted to be there. She didn't come close to the perverts in front of her, she guessed.  
  
She did, however, find herself at the head of the line before she knew it. As luck would have it, she'd selected not Ivy, but Harley. Or was it?  
  
Montoya stared at her. "Chrissy" smiled in return. "Shouldn't your hair be blonde?"  
  
"Chrissy" waved a hand. "What, you think I should be blonde just because I play someone on your TV?"  
  
It was her. The hair was different, but Renee _instantly_ knew that voice. "I should run you in right now," she said, smiling insincerely.  
  
"Betcha you'd like to," Harley said breathily, her perky breasts almost floating out of her sheer top. "I remember you. You paid Mindy $500 for a lap dance in that little green get-up of hers."  
  
Renee flushed and looked away from her rising and falling cleavage.  
  
"Detective Montoya," Quinn sighed.  
  
The policewoman's head spun around. She couldn't be admitting it was her?  
  
"I always remember the cops," she continued, sucking on a fingertip. "Especially the lady cops. It feels extra dirty." Quinn smiled at her.  
  
Renee glared back at her. She wondered how Harvey was faring.  
  
"Okay," Quinn said, all business-like. "Bra or panties?"  
  
"Excuse me?" Renee asked, shocked.  
  
"Bra or panties?" Quinn repeated. "Which do you want me to sign?" She grinned salaciously. "One woman wanted me to sign hers while she was still wearing it. Saucy little thing. You want that?"  
  
Montoya was an experienced cop, damn it. And she was definitely straight, because this little display wasn't turning her on. It was more than slightly humiliating, however.  
  
She slammed twenty dollars on the table. "Enjoy tonight," she whispered.  
  
"You ever watch that cartoon where those kids carry around little balls?" Quinn asked idly. "And little animals pop out and fight?"  
  
Renee blinked. "What?"  
  
"And every town has one cop, and they all look the same, and they all have the same name?" Quinn giggled. "Officer Jenny. I think I met your Officer Jenny in New York, Detective. Only she got the name a little wrong. Detective M-M-Maza-a-a. M-M-Montoya-a-a," she said, letting the first and last letters roll off her tongue. "I wonder if she'd like a lap dance too?"  
  
Her lips pressed tightly together, Renee straightened, spun on her heel, and stormed out.  
  
Quinn laughed gaily and tucked the twenty into her shirt.  
  
Bullock came out a minute later. "What a brainless fucking airhead," he said.  
  
"Who, Ivy?" Montoya asked, still steamed.  
  
"I don't know," he said hesitantly. "Boobs were too big. Ivy never did have those Lola Ferrari-type breasts."  
  
She didn't bother correcting him. She couldn't pronounce it either.   
  
"And she acted like she didn't have a single brain cell. Just asked me if I was at one of her bachelor parties."  
  
"Well, that was definitely Harley," Montoya snapped. "Her voice was unmistakable."  
  
"Maybe it was just a really good imitation," he replied.  
  
"You think I don't know her?" she retorted.  
  
"Never knew Ivy to play the bubblebrain," he said uncomfortably. "With that ego of hers." He remained silent for a few moments. "Guess who I passed in the line on the way out," he said.  
  
"Who?" she asked, not really caring.  
  
"Nygma."  
  
Surprise replaced anger. "The Riddler? He's in there too?"  
  
He nodded. "Maybe we'd better wait and see what happens. They might be in it together."  
  
She grumped. "Oh, all right."  
_______________________  
  
Ivy groaned mentally as yet another leering, drooling deviate slithered away. She was very glad she'd stipulated on a hotel room with a bath big enough for two. A shower wouldn't be enough to remove the sleaze. A bath - well, baths could be more fun.  
  
She looked up and pretended to smile. "Hello there," she began to say breathily. Then she stopped. "Eddie?"  
  
The Riddler, sans costume, blinked. The breasts, he thought, were definitely fake. The voice was real, however - too real. He realized this was the real Poison Ivy, and he suddenly felt nervous that she'd caught him ogling her. It was hard to label Ivy a feminist, since she'd never cared for men OR women. But she definitely had her "femi-nazi" qualities.  
  
And as it turned out, she cared for women a little bit more than they'd all suspected.  
  
"Er . . ." he began to say.  
  
Ivy swore under her breath. Two-Face had _promised_ - all right, it wasn't even a grudging promise, it was more like a pulling teeth kind of promise - to let all the top-echelon Rogues know that they were back in town for a couple days, and that they'd be dropping by the Iceberg after hours. Apparently Eddie had not gotten the word. "Tell me," she said sultrily, thinking fast. "Have you ever heard of Randy and the Rockets?"  
  
Nygma stared at her. "Who?"  
  
"I read a story that Paul McCartney once said in an interview that it was a personal dream of the Beatles to go touring bars under a false name. They'd call themselves Randy and the Rockets, and they'd wear masks and capes, and no one would know it was them."  
  
"Uh-huh," he said, looking at her like she'd forgotten her meds.  
  
"And the interviewer asked him what would happen when the people recognized the Beatles' voices," Ivy said. "Paul didn't react well."  
  
Eddie looked at her a moment more. "You know, I think that story is apocryphal," he said slowly.  
  
"Well, I'm sorry if you didn't like it," Ivy said emptily. "You don't have to be mean."  
  
He chuckled. "Sorry."  
  
"Why don't you drop by the Iceberg?" she whispered luxuriantly. "Say, after the doors close? For the best customers only?"  
  
Eddie smiled and passed her a twenty. "For the story," he murmured.   
  
"Don't you want me to sign your boxers?" she asked, but he was already leaving.  
_________________________  
  
"Like the show?"  
  
Nygma stopped in his tracks. His head turned slowly. "Detective," he said, a smile spreading. "Actually, the everyday festivities have been precluded by a signing ceremony. You'll have to find another use for all those one-dollar bills. Although," he added, glancing at Montoya, "maybe this lovely officer will oblige."  
  
"Get what you wanted?" Montoya retorted.  
  
He reached for his buckle. "Would you like to see?"  
  
"That's all right," she muttered, holding up a hand and looking away.  
  
"Think they were realistic enough?" Bullock asked, looking intent.  
  
"They looked like silicone to me," Nygma answered mildly.  
  
"You know what he meant," Montoya snapped.  
  
Edward thought for a moment. "You go in there expecting one thing," he finally said, "and as soon as they open their mouths, all your expectations are shot." He tipped his head slightly and continued on.  
  
"Don't bother," Renee said when Bullock stood up. "We can't arrest him for anything."  
  
"I could come up with something," he muttered. "Let's go see the commissioner."  
____________________________________  
  
"Ugh, finally!" Ivy sighed, pulling the flesh-colored implants she'd been using to increase her bust size out and flinging them over her shoulder. "At last I feel like I have some privacy."  
  
"Only you could say that out here," Harley murmured as she walked beside Poison Ivy through Robinson Park, her arm linked with Ivy's.  
  
Ivy shrugged. "A few square miles of green surrounded by tons of air pollution and grime? If it wasn't for the time I've invested in parks like this one, it would be brown by now. Mommy's home, and the plants know it."  
  
Distracted by a whistling sound, Harley looked up and to her left just in time to see some kind of projectile being blocked in midair by a tree branch that had moved at least two feet - and on a still night.  
  
"See?" Ivy added as the dented Batarang bounced to a spot less than a yard from her feet.  
  
"This park's gotten a lot friendlier since Poison Ivy left. Going out of its way to protect two strippers."  
  
Harley and Ivy turned around and found the Dark Knight looming over them, having silently appeared behind them. "If you expect me to go on pretending like I have an IQ of 70," Ivy said calmly, "don't hold your breath."  
  
"I wonder how long he can hold his breath, anyway," Harley wondered.  
  
"Long enough," Batman replied.  
  
"Ain't that the truth," Ivy said.  
  
"What are you two doing back here?" Batman said, his tone chilly. "You've given Gordon an excuse to throw you back in jail."  
  
"And I suppose you're going to tell him," Ivy said dryly.  
  
"Why do you think the police were there tonight?" he asked.  
  
"I had heard we were pretty popular with the boys in blue," she pointed out.  
  
"Girls too?"  
  
Ivy looked at Harley. "Well, I'm sure there are a couple lesbians out there who enjoy girl-on-girl action. A few aberrations, I suppose."  
  
"Anything's possible," Harley said. "Montoya was there."  
  
"They were on assignment," Batman said. "Gordon photographed Harley picking up the Bowler Boys at the airport."  
  
Harley scowled. "Stupid peeping Toms," she muttered.  
  
"So what do you have to worry about?" Ivy retorted.  
  
"The Joker," he replied.  
  
Ivy's hand drifted up with a will of its own and touched her hair where it covered the ugly scar hidden on her scalp, the one Joker had left behind a few months ago when a straight razor had sliced through the flesh, very nearly embedding itself in her skull. She forced it into her pocket.  
  
With all the potency of a magic talisman, meanwhile, the mere mention of the Joker's name caused Harley to press tightly against her lover. The Joker had been transformed from her romantic obsession into her bogeyman, and in either case, she was practically defenseless against him. Having lived through numerous beatings over the years, Harley was more frightened of what he might do to Ivy than anything he could do to her.  
  
"He's been relatively quiet lately," Batman went on, having put just the right element of menace into his voice to freeze them. "Not like the time last year he slaughtered an entire dentist's office because those new steel teeth of his were tingling. And they weren't even his dentists."  
  
"I suppose it's my fault then because I knocked his out," Ivy said angrily.  
  
"The Joker acts with absolute randomness," Batman replied. "Totally unpredictable. But the two of you are still at the center of his mania. Get out of Gotham before you end up in a cell next to his. Or worse, he finds out you're here and breaks out."  
  
"We can handle ourselves," Ivy shot back. "And not that it's any of your concern, Detective, but in less than thirty-six hours, we'll be on a choice tropical isle of mine. It'll make a much better vacation than another few days in this cesspool."  
  
He looked at them grimly. "I'm keeping an eye on you," he said finally.  
  
"Oh goody, a bodyguard," Harley said. "Let's go, Red."  
  
They turned to leave.  
  
"That's an interesting choice of words," Batman said suddenly. "Detective. I only know one person who calls me that."  
  
"We'll tell Talia you said hi," Ivy muttered.  
  
She felt herself lurch backwards when a black glove grabbed her arm. "Let go!" she hissed.  
  
"You're working with the Demon?" Batman asked angrily. "What are you really doing here? What's his plan?"  
  
"I don't work for that fucking asshole," she shot back. "And if you don't let go in fifteen seconds, the local flora is going to take notice."  
  
"Then how do you know Talia?" he snarled.  
  
"Business," Ivy said. "Our business. Not yours. You're the star-crossed lovers. Why don't you ask her?"  
  
The Batman finally released her arm when he sensed that Robinson Park was growing dangerous. "This is not your city any more," he told them flatly. "The police told you. I'm telling you. You left. You shouldn't have come back."  
  
"This was never my city in the first place," Ivy snapped. "Gotham will always be cold and dead where it matters. The one thing in this town that really mattered to me, I took her with me."  
  
"You might not want your precious plants to hear that," Batman responded.  
  
Harley moved just enough so that she was partially between them. "Just leave us alone," she almost shouted. "I wanted to come back here, not her. We just want to be together. So beat it, Bats!"  
  
Batman coldly swept his cape around and disappeared into the shadows.  
  
Ivy was breathing hard enough that her shoulders were rising and falling. "Thanks," she said, cooling down.  
  
"Couldn't let you have all the repartee," Harley answered, grinning impishly over her shoulder. "So, want to go see the Gallery one last time now?"  
  
Sincerely doubting that one or another wouldn't crash in front of their paths some day, Ivy nodded. "One last time."  
_________________________________  
  
"Hard to imagine," Oswald said, twirling an umbrella by the handle, "that's the same Harley Quinn who once assaulted my jukebox because it would not do karaoke."  
  
"Her hair's brown," Killer Croc repeated for the third time. "Why the hell's her hair brown?"  
  
"She's not a natural blonde," Two-Face told him. "Didn't you know?"  
  
Croc wondered what else he never knew and muttered to himself.  
  
The three of them nursed their drinks by the bar. The Penguin and Two-Face did, anyway - Killer Croc just kicked one back and ordered another. Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn were in a different group with the Riddler, Scarecrow, and Clayface.  
  
"Jervis'll be pissed he missed this," Harvey added.  
  
"I dare say the Joker may be more perturbed than the Hatter," Penguin suggested.  
  
"Not if he has a good memory," Two-Face growled.  
  
"Hey, if you're so smart," Croc interrupted, "then where they been all this time?"  
  
Oswald smiled craftily. "Working for the Demon in New York, of course."  
  
"What she want with that old fart?" Croc asked incredulously.  
  
"It's the Harvard vocabulary that I miss most about this place, really."  
  
Two-Face nodded past Penguin. "Selina," he said by way of greeting.  
  
"Ah," Oswald said urbanely. "All that was missing from our gathering has arrived."  
  
"Sweet talker," Croc mumbled.  
  
Catwoman took off her gloves. "Harvey. Penguin. Killer," she said. "Thought I'd put in an appearance."  
  
"Fashionably late, naturally," Penguin said.  
  
"So, by old fart I assume you mean Ra's al-Ghul?" Catwoman asked.  
  
Two-Face nodded. "Ozzie here thinks the girls have been working for him all this time."  
  
"Mm," she said noncommittally. "Chardonnay," she added, talking to the bartender.  
  
"Where, I ask you, did the Riddler say Miss Isley was looking for jobs?" Oswald asked, unruffled.  
  
"New York," Two-Face said.  
  
"And who moved to New York City to run a company full-time?"  
  
"Talia," Croc muttered. The Gotham grapevine learned these things sooner or later.  
  
Selina said nothing.  
  
"And," Oswald added triumphantly, "just days before their departure, who was Ivy gathering information on?"  
  
Croc looked at him blankly.  
  
"Talia," Oswald told him, exasperated.  
  
"You never told us that," Harvey retorted.  
  
"It wasn't a secret," Oswald said. "Miss Kyle spoke to her as well."  
  
Two-Face looked over at Catwoman. "You been holding out, Selina?"  
  
"Talia is too insipid to waste words over," Catwoman sniffed. "I only shared with Ivy because - it was a girl thing."  
  
"You shouldn't say 'girl thing' in connection with Quinn and Ivy," Harvey pointed out, grinning evilly. "People might get ideas."  
  
"The Gotham tabloids certainly don't need me to get ideas," she replied, grimacing. She sipped from her wineglass. "I'm going to say hi so I can go."  
  
"Leaving so soon?" Penguin asked, sounding disappointed.  
  
"We're not really friends," she said, gesturing toward Ivy and Harley. "This is just a token of respect." Selina put her glass down and sauntered over.  
  
Oswald's eyes gleamed as he watched her go. "Your only reason, I'm sure," he murmured.  
  
"What was that?" Croc asked.  
  
"Have another drink."  
  
"Don't mind if I do."  
______________________________  
  
"Ivy has this gorgeous little island in Indonesia picked out," Harley was saying excitedly. "Well, actually, her first choice was somewhere in the South Pacific. But they tried to film some reality TV show there, and six hours later . . ." She shrugged and wiped her hands. "Thanks for playing, we have some lovely consolation gifts."  
  
"Wait a minute," Clayface interrupted. "That was you? The eighteen cameramen and crew members who disappeared in the jungle?"  
  
"Well, it wasn't the plants' fault!" Ivy complained. "They were only defending themselves from civilization. The government certainly didn't need to burn the entire island. I swear to God," she grumbled. "Every time I find some quiet little place to grow things, someone comes along and nukes it."  
  
Clayface chortled. "Pay up," he said gleefully.  
  
Harley watched as the other men fished out money and handed it over to the man of clay. "Huh?"  
  
"Clayface bet us all one hundred dollars apiece that you had something to do with those 'unexplained' disappearances," Scarecrow said, sourfaced.  
  
"We needed a new wager after you two came out of the closet," Clayface said, shrugging. Not that he exactly had shoulders to shrug. But the meaning was clear.  
  
"Why do you all feel compelled to bet on my personal life?" Ivy asked, eyes narrowing.  
  
"Payback for all the hours we've wasted listening to your Earth Liberation speeches," the Riddler thought, but he wisely kept his counsel.  
  
Harley brightened. "Hi, Catty!" she said cheerfully, waving.  
  
Ivy glanced over. "Selina."  
  
"Ivy," Catwoman replied. "Did you really nip the reality craze in the bud?" Then she made a face. "I'm sorry, I can't believe I made such a bad pun, even unintentionally." She looked at Eddie. "Oh, but I'm sure you liked it."  
  
"I'm sure it would have faded six months later anyway," Ivy answered, unconcerned. "Reality television already existed. It's called the Discovery Channel."  
  
Selina hadn't been too fond of it either. "Oswald's full of theories too," she said.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"He seems to think you're working for Talia al-Ghul."  
  
Ivy growled. "Ooo! Why is everyone asking me about her tonight? I've seen her, maybe, three times. I don't work for her. I certainly don't work for her father."  
  
"So where do you work?" Eddie asked.  
  
She hesitated.  
  
"Oh come on, if you can't tell your family . . ."  
  
"My extremely dysfunctional family, able to tolerate each other only on good days," Ivy pointed out.  
  
"How is that different from the rest of the world?" Harley asked.  
  
Ivy frowned. "Oh, all right. If only to prevent the rest of you from stealing from it. I work for Nightstone Unlimited."  
  
"Interesting," Clayface and the Riddler said in unison.  
  
"Military hardware, pharmaceuticals, technology," she said, seeing that neither of them had heard of it. "The dangerous stuff."  
  
"Sounds like my kind of company," Clayface said.  
  
Selina continued to say nothing.  
  
"Cat . . ." Harley began to ask.  
  
"I already know the next three words on your lips, Harley. Do us all a favor and don't say it," Catwoman told her immediately.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"I was just surprised," Selina said. "It sounded like you ignored my advice."  
  
"Like Poe said in _The Purloined Letter_," the Riddler reminded them, "the best thing to take is advice."  
  
"But as you can see, I did take your advice," Ivy told her, ignoring Eddie. "I only know Talia in a more - social milieu."  
  
Clayface shifted. "If you'll excuse me," he murmured. "C'mon, you too," he called out to the men by the bar, waving his hundred-dollar bills in the air as he walked toward them.  
  
"You didn't bet?" Ivy asked Selina, mildly irritated that her life was all but a Vegas fixture.  
  
"When Talia's name comes up, I usually tune it out," Selina replied coolly. "As you might recall."  
  
"You said she was in love with a fantasy," Ivy said.  
  
"Better to be in love with the real thing."  
  
"Definitely."  
  
Both women thought of two very different people and felt warm.  
  
Ivy turned Harley around in mid-conversation with Jonathan Crane and kissed her.  
  
Eddie chuckled. "That's one way to interrupt somebody."  
  
To be continued . . . 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Kiss From a Rose (3/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention.   
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: This takes place about 15-18 months after "It's Just Allergies" and "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", which you can read at FFN as well.  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
Summary: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn visit Gotham after being absent for over a year. A sequel to "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses". Nuff said.  
_______________________________  
  
Chapter 3  
  
"You know, the funniest thing happened tonight."  
  
The Bat didn't bother turning around. "Killer Croc got drunk and passed out in the ice pool."  
  
"No, although that was funny," she admitted. "The polar bears wouldn't touch him. His skin was probably too tough. I can see your cameras inside are still working. No, I was talking to Ivy."  
  
"So it's her."  
  
He could feel the look she was giving him. "Don't play the innocent with me. You knew perfectly well it was her. You're just stalling."  
  
He was. He continued to watch the street below. "You were talking to Ivy."  
  
"And I happened to bring up Talia. Not my idea, certainly. I don't bring that bimbo up for fun. But Ivy complained that everyone was asking her about Talia that night. And I thought, 'Gee. I wonder who she might be talking about.' Any guesses?"  
  
"I saw them in the park," he muttered. "She used words that normally only the al-Ghuls use. I called her on it."  
  
"Funny how the old creep continues to draw your attention," Catwoman replied. "For a guy who isn't even in Gotham every other year. Of course," she added, "maybe it's because of that girl you swear you're over."  
  
"We're not over," Batman growled. "There was nothing to be over."  
  
"So you're not the star-crossed lovers the underworld hears about?" she asked sarcastically. "Forever kept apart like Romeo and Juliet? The modern-day Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor, separated by good and evil?"  
  
Batman stood up and whirled around to face her. "You always talk a good game about Talia, Selina," he said coldly. "Maybe it's because you've been afraid of her all this time."  
  
Selina crossed her legs. "I could put her in traction."  
  
"She'd like that. I could nurse her back to health at Wayne Manor."  
  
She laughed throatily. "Right, like you'd be able to tell someone else that you're . . ." The laugh died. "She already knows," Selina realized.  
  
"They all know," he told her. "Her, her father, his most trusted servants. They all know. They throw it in my face without even trying. Unlike you, however," he added, "they figured it out on their own."  
  
"Gee," she said calmly. "That almost sounded like you said I was stupid."  
  
He turned away. "That wasn't what I meant," he said, instantly regretting his last statement.  
  
"Is that why we're all supposed to be so intimidated by a mummy and his devoted daughter?" she pressed. "Because he figured out the world's greatest secret? He knows who Batman is - and I'm guessing he's too high and mighty to use it against you - and somehow that makes him better than the rest of us morons."  
  
"Selina," he whispered.  
  
"Well?" she asked. "Should I be worried? Is that why you pull away? Is that why you bring her up even though she hasn't been in Gotham for months? Because you're in love with her?"  
  
Batman glanced at her. "Has this been bothering you?"  
  
She bared her teeth at him. "That's not an answer," she said. "And yes, maybe a little."  
  
He slid down onto his rear end and rested against the roof's edge. "I'm not in love with her," he told her. "Once I thought I was, but I wasn't. I don't think she was ever in love with me either. I think she knows it now, too."  
  
Standing, Selina approached him slowly. "You must have been with other woman before us. What's so special about her if you didn't love her?"  
  
The Batman hesitated. Then he yanked his mask off. "She was beautiful. _Is_ beautiful," he corrected himself. "Mysterious. Exotic. Intelligent. Conflicted. And she told me she loved me. She called me 'Beloved'."  
  
"Yes, I know," Catwoman said. "That nickname circulated eventually."  
  
He held up a hand, and she interpreted this to mean he wanted to continue. "She knew who I was, and she didn't care," he said. "It made me more lovely in her eyes. And I fed off that. I admit it. There was a definite mutual attraction behind all the - all the lies and manipulations and delusions."  
  
"All the elements of a Gotham romance," she murmured. "Sorry," she added when he looked at her.  
  
"Of course," he said with a trace of harshness, "it's hard loving someone who betrays you to her psychotic father over and over again. Sure, he's your father, but when you're able to admit that his plans are madness, and that you don't agree with them, and _still_ you help him, that's not good enough for a reason. So, I stopped thinking we had a future together."  
  
"But you still had a future as something," Selina pointed out. "Otherwise we wouldn't keep hearing about her."  
  
"Well, our relationship entered a new phase," Batman said dryly. "The play-acting phase."  
  
"Play-acting?"  
  
"We both had our lines," he told her. "She was the tragic heroine, torn between filial duty and the one she'd given her heart to. I was the brooding hero, willing to bear the slings and arrows of love so that good might triumph over evil. Ra's was the stern, patrician father from Shakespeare who took his wayward daughter back no matter how often she disappointed him."  
  
"You make it sound so - routine," she said.  
  
He eyed her. "Wasn't it? We all got our kicks from it. She came running whenever her father's plans came too close to threatening the planet. She was my top spy in his organization, since he could never harm her."  
  
"But why?" Catwoman asked. "Why is he willing to have her ruin his plans at the last minute time and again? Just because she's his daughter?"  
  
"No, because she's the mother of his future grandchildren. Grandchildren with me," he added, smiling mirthlessly. "That's what he got out of it. He assumed the longer Talia and I were thrown together, the more inevitable our union would be. Somewhere deep inside, Ra's knows he's going to die. The Lazarus Pits are losing their effectiveness. He needs an heir. And he's made it perfectly clear that I would be the perfect father."  
  
"And Talia," he added, "gets to go on believing that she's in love with me, and I with her, and that one day she'll stop allowing herself to be pulled back . . ."  
  
"Excuse me," Selina interrupted. "She thinks you're in love with her? Why don't you tell her the truth?"  
  
"It's not in our lines."  
  
She looked perplexed. "It's not a play, Bruce. It's life and death, love and madness. You mean you've just been stringing her along?"  
  
He looked away. "I wouldn't call it that."  
  
"Christ," she said. "If I didn't halfway suspect she knows on some level, I'd almost feel sorry for her."  
  
"Don't be," Batman told her, pulling the mask back on. "Someone changed the script."  
  
She raised an eyebrow behind her mask.  
  
"She doesn't even call me Beloved any more," he muttered.  
  
"Man, thy name is ego," she replied.  
  
He glared at her. "There's no more drama. She still tells me what her father is up to. She just does it by e-mails and faxes. I haven't spoken to her in months. It's like we're business partners or something."  
  
"Or maybe she got some self-respect and decided she wasn't going to be the only piece in a game you and Ra's were playing," Selina replied.  
  
Batman nodded reluctantly. "Maybe. I'm going to call her tomorrow. I asked her a year ago where Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn had disappeared to. Their trail went cold in New York. She said she didn't know. She lied."  
  
"She lies for her father."  
  
"I know when she lies for her father. I can tell by the stage directions. This time she just lied to my face. You'd think if she _loved_ me so much, like she always says, she could at least be truthful about something that doesn't involve her."  
  
Catwoman smiled. "I take it back," she said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I don't almost feel sorry for her. I almost respect her."  
  
"Does that mean you can stop worrying about her?"  
  
"I wasn't worried about her. I was worried about you."  
  
"I can take care of myself."  
  
One corner of her lip twitched upward. "But it's better with two, isn't it?"  
  
He blinked. "Much," he finally said.  
  
"Meow."  
____________________________  
  
"So," Harley said brightly as she snuggled closer, "I thought I'd take the babies for a jog first. They've been cooped up too long. Then I'd take a shower - you're invited, of course . . ."  
  
"Of course," Ivy replied, a sparkle in her eye belying the solemn face. She rubbed luxuriantly against the silken bedsheets. Which meant she also rubbed against the woman next to her, who colored slightly.  
  
"Then I thought I'd do some shopping," she went on, her voice dropping slightly.  
  
"Make sure they remove the tags this time."  
  
Harley stuck her tongue out. Ivy chose to interpret this not as an insult, but as an invitation. As soon as her tongue disappeared from view, Ivy's lips followed in pursuit.  
  
"Mmmph! Mmmph . . . mmmmm . . ."  
  
Harley broke away and snarled. "If I had my mallet right now, I'd - "  
  
Ivy sighed and answered it. "This had better be good."  
  
"Ms. Ivy? Jim Apple here."  
  
"Jim Esquire," she replied. "Any news?"  
  
"My brother and I are nearly finished going through the books here."  
  
She raised herself on one elbow and looked at the clock. "It's seven-thirty in the morning."  
  
"Mr. Jones doesn't appear to be very fond of filing his Form 1120," Apple said dryly.  
  
"He's a tax cheat?"  
  
"The veracity of his record-keeping appears open to question," he confirmed. "As such, trying to follow the money is like trying to see something at the bottom of a barrel of oil."  
  
"You mean we're not getting our money?" Harley complained, listening in over Ivy's shoulder.  
  
"Ah, Miss Quinn. So wonderful to hear you up."  
  
"Guess not," Ivy muttered. "When lawyers get evasive, it means it's bad."  
  
"The only person being evasive is Mr. Jones," he replied mildly. "And when we pointed out that he was not our client, and therefore we felt ethically obligated to point out his evasiveness to the IRS, he became much more helpful."  
  
Ivy chuckled. "How much?"  
  
"He named a figure of thirty thousand. We're working it up. It wouldn't do for the result to be a nice, round number. It might appear to be a bribe."  
  
"I'll trust your judgment," she said.  
  
"Yeah, we don't know much about the law," Harley piped up. "We never even made it to court. They just drove us to Arkham, end of story!"  
  
"Does Tim have anything to add?"  
  
"Only to remind you that you'll probably have to speak to an accountant when you prepare your next tax return, because we don't know if this money belongs on a Form 1040 Schedule C as nonemployee compensation, or a Form 1065 as . . ."  
  
Ivy's eyes glazed over as he began talking about the tax code. "I'll make a note of it," she said quickly.  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"Call us when you're finished. I'd like a lunch meeting around one."  
  
"Of course."  
  
Ivy hung up the phone and looked for Harley. She'd gotten out of bed a minute before. "Harl?" she called out, sounding a little disappointed.  
  
Harley emerged from the bathroom, tying her hair into a ponytail. She was wearing bright green tight shorts that showed off her rear. The distinctive red and black costume was still her "nighttime attire", but she often wore green as a symbol of her bond with Ivy. She was also topless. Her green top must have been left behind in the bathroom. "Red?"  
  
"The hyenas are getting more attention than I am," Ivy pouted.  
  
"The shower offer is still open," she said naughtily.  
  
Ivy sat up and looked at her reflection in the mirror. "I'm willing to put up with bed hair until you get back, but only for so long."  
  
She disappeared briefly and returned with her top, pulling it on. Her breasts shimmied, making Ivy growl involuntarily. "I'm sure you can put up with a little morning crabgrass," she cooed, coming over. Harley's hand brushed at her hair, but hesitated at one spot. "Sorry," she added softly.  
  
Ivy tried not to feel self-conscious of the vicious scar on her scalp. "Stop saying that," she said. "You told me yourself months ago. We can't go on blaming ourselves for the things that happen to each other."  
  
"I can't help it," Harley replied unhappily. "What if he gets out before we leave?"   
  
Ivy could feel Harley's fingers tremble in her hair. "Go for your jog, honey," she told her firmly. "If he tries anything, we'll deal with it. Like always." She took Harley's hand and kissed her knuckles.  
  
Harley smiled cautiously. "Okay, Red."  
  
She watched Harley leave. Considering how she looked from the back, it was impossible not to. Although the shoulder straps didn't quite cover the scars from the bite marks . . .  
  
Mentally she chastised herself. She tells Harley not to apologize for her injuries, and here she was blaming herself for Harley's. She ought to take her meds.  
____________________________  
  
"Should we follow her?"  
  
"Nah," Bullock said, watching Harley's retreating backside, noisy hyenas in tow, with a degree of appreciation. "She's probably comin' back here. Unless you want to go jogging after her?"  
  
Renee snorted. "Not in these slacks."  
  
"Wonder why she's wearing green. Thought that was Ivy's exclusive color."  
  
His partner muttered under her breath and did not reply.  
  
"You gotta get over this."  
  
"Why isn't he letting us arrest them?" Detective Montoya complained. "They're _right here_. It'd be easy."  
  
"Is our job easier without having these two around?"  
  
"Well, yeah."  
  
"And if we throw 'em back in Arkham, what are the chances they'll get a few bad habits back and make life difficult again?"  
  
"But . . ."  
  
"But what?" he muttered. "The commissioner made up his mind. Follow them, but don't arrest them unless they break the law. What's got your panties in a knot?"  
  
She looked annoyed. "You know how many times I tracked these two?"  
  
"A bunch of times. So?"  
  
"So? So how am I supposed to sit back and smile while these two lunatics, who have committed enough crimes to go to prison for three lifetimes, run around free? It's like I wasted all that time."  
  
He shrugged. "This your time of the month?"  
  
"Quit it, goddamnit!"  
  
Bullock looked at her, surprised.  
  
She exhaled. "Sorry. I just - I realize you're not exactly Mr. Politically Correct, but could you stow the anti-female remarks for one day?"  
  
"What? You know I don't mean it, not really."  
  
"Yeah, but a lot of cops said I wasn't fit to track down the other maniacs in this town." Renee's eyes were infuriated and hurt. "Women cops always have it tough, but people said I was only good enough to arrest a couple girls. They said I wasn't tough enough to handle a Croc or a Bane or a Clayface. And it pissed me off! And you making those remarks isn't helping!"  
  
He waited for a moment. "So are you mad at these two - who, I might point out, you busted all by yourself a few times, without any Bat-help - because they're out, or because they remind you of other cops who don't work with you, and consequently ain't got a clue about what a great cop you are?"  
  
Montoya blushed a little. "The second one, I guess."  
  
"Then let's just make sure these two hit the city limits soon." He peered into his mug. "And get us some coffee."  
  
A minute later, Detective Bullock was unceremoniously shoved out of his car door. He harrumphed and straightened his coat. "Okay, so I'll get the coffee," he muttered.  
  
To be continued . . . 


	4. Chapter Four

Title: Kiss From a Rose (4/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention.   
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: This takes place about 15-18 months after "It's Just Allergies" and "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", which you can read at FFN as well.  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
Summary: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn visit Gotham after being absent for over a year. A sequel to "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses". Nuff said.  
_______________________________  
  
Chapter 4  
  
"Ms. Cabeza?"  
  
"Yes, Lily?"  
  
"You have a call on line two."  
  
"I'm a little busy here, Lily. Could they . . ."  
  
Her secretary sounded slightly awed. "It's Bruce Wayne, from Wayne Enterprises. He says it's important."  
  
Talia leaned back in her chair. "Does he?" she replied, amused. "Put him through. And make sure the line is secure." Secure from you too, her eyes said.  
  
"Of course, Ms. Cabeza," she said swiftly.  
  
The CEO picked up the phone once the doors were closed. "Hello, Bruce. What an unexpected treat."  
  
"Talia," he replied calmly. "It's been a while."  
  
"Yes, well, as you would know if you spent three days a month in your offices, people in our position have a great many responsibilities."  
  
"I saw second-quarter profits were up."  
  
"Yours too, I noticed," she said. "Not as much as ours, though."  
  
"From a percentage standpoint. With our profits, it's harder to achieve double-digit growth."  
  
"True enough," Talia conceded.  
  
Bruce hesitated. It was good to hear her light, musical voice after so long, but once again, she sounded different. She didn't sound like she was speaking to her beloved, the Detective, the Dark Knight, one of the two poles in her life. She sounded like Veronica, actually. Dear old Bruce. It was distracting. "It's been a while since you brought your drama to my doorstep," he said, trying to provoke her a little.  
  
Talia's smile slipped briefly. "Drama. That was polite. I'm surprised you didn't say 'histrionics'."  
  
Her reply surprised him. "You've become - unpredictable, Talia. Not like your father."  
  
"Predictability is rarely a good thing, Bruce. Why, am I not reading the lines you'd like to hear?"  
  
Oddly reminiscent of his own analogy the night before, he found himself switching gears, dancing around what had quickly become the center of the conversation. "Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn are back in Gotham, you know."  
  
"Are they? No, I didn't know. We're not that close."  
  
"Close enough," he retorted. "I asked you if you knew where they were, Talia. You remember what you said?"  
  
"I told you I didn't," she said simply.  
  
"You were lying."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why?" he asked. "Ra's said not to?"  
  
Her fingernails scratched at the surface of her desk. Even now, did he really think her so devoid of free will that she could only do what her father asked her to? Or what her "Beloved" asked her to?  
  
Of course, maybe she'd foolishly allowed herself to cultivate that impression. Well, as Poison Ivy might say, it was time to pull that impression out by the roots.  
  
"Because it wasn't any of your business," she said coldly.  
  
He laughed, surprised. "But it was your business to know where they were."  
  
"My father asked me to monitor their location," she admitted, stung. "But I am aware of a great many things in this city, Bruce, and not because it is my mission. It is only because I wish it. Because _I_ wish it," she emphasized. "The sooner you get it through that skull of yours that I do not exist merely to fulfill your wishes - OR my father's," she quickly added, anticipating the reply, "the sooner we can end this discussion."  
  
"When did you develop a mind of your own?" he retorted.  
  
"I am sorry you think so little of me," Talia hissed, surprised that she was becoming so emotional. "Now I understand why we never could have worked."  
  
"Because of me?" Bruce asked, flabbergasted. "How were we supposed to make things work, Talia? When the chips were down, you picked your father every time. _Every time_. His plan would fail, I would live, but he was always out there, preparing his latest scheme, because you helped him. How the hell was I supposed to believe someone who betrayed me constantly? Or respect someone who let her father run her life like that?"  
  
She gasped, and the receiver almost fell from her hand. "You bastard," she whispered.  
  
"Talia."  
  
"At least," she told him, her anger becoming white-hot, "I do not allow my parents' murder to dictate my entire life, _Bruce_. And maybe I learned a little self-respect. I'm living my life for myself now, and the least you could do is be a little happy for me!" Rising out of her chair, Talia slammed the phone down so hard that she cracked the plastic casing.  
  
She looked down at the damaged phone. She'd had such speeches planned for that dialogue. "Shit," she said. "Lily?" she called. "See if someone can get me another phone."  
  
"Ms. Cabeza?"  
  
"And hold my appointments for an hour." Running her fingers back through her hair, she went into a smaller room to meditate.  
__________________________  
  
Bruce stared at the phone. On some level, he'd believed she was being coy all along, that this had been just a cunning game of playing hard-to-get in order to get his attention. He'd been prepared to tell her about Catwoman, if he'd had to, in order to make her understand that there was no hope for them.  
  
Apparently he'd miscalculated.  
  
He took solace in the fact that if he was confused by Talia al-Ghul, her father must be utterly confounded.  
__________________________  
  
"He'd better be here," Ivy muttered. "These tickets are nonrefundable."  
  
"I don't care if he's here," Harley told her, scratching a hyena's ears. "We're only going to have time for three days in the Pacific at this point. If you have any ideas about tracking him down if he's missing, I'm taking my ticket right now."  
  
Ivy sighed, seeing the stubborn look in her eyes. "Spending all this time and not getting anything in return," she reminded her.  
  
Harley crossed over to sit next to her in the back of the limousine. "Just us," she cooed, snuggling next to her. "Golden sands, suntan oil, me in my bikini, killer jungle paradise . . ." She fluttered her eyelashes at her.  
  
She'd just joined Harley that morning in the shower - they would have steamed the mirrors if the water had been _cold_ - and already she was becoming aroused. Harley Quinn had sunlight in her veins, because she could make her petals open any time. "Harley," she sighed.  
  
The natural brown-haired girl pulled back suddenly. "And remember the _last_ time you put our trip to the tropics on hold because you just HAD to get somebody?"  
  
"I - remember," Ivy murmured, feeling chills run up her spine. If Harley _ever_ needed to remind her where her priorities ought to lay, she only had to bring up that month in hell. "You're right, it's not important. If he's there, he's there. If he's not - well, I hope he enjoys life looking over his shoulder."  
  
"That's the spirit," Harley said, giggling. "Rely on your reputation."  
  
Ivy grumbled to herself. "We still have a reputation in this town?"  
  
"Somebody needs a hu-ug," Harley sang, grinning.  
  
The window separating them from the driver's seat slowly went down. The driver mumbled something.  
  
"Good," Ivy said. "Can you tell if our attorneys are there?"  
  
There was an unintelligble reply.  
  
"Good," she repeated. "Pull up front when we're there."  
  
She looked at Harley when they had their privacy again. "What?"  
  
"How do you know he wasn't telling us we needed gas?"  
  
"You hired him," Ivy shot back.  
  
"He's an ex-con. He needed a break."  
  
"The next word I understand him say will be the first one."  
  
"It never really mattered if we could understand him. All we needed was for him to understand us. 'Floor it!'. 'Let's get out of here!'. 'Lose the cops!'."  
  
"We," Ivy sighed, "are a motley crew."  
  
"But I'm not wearing motley tonight," Harley pointed out. "Oh, you meant . . . sorry."  
  
Ivy shook her head. Either Harley had pretended to be a flake for so long that the effects had been permanent, or she'd once been the biggest oddball in her psychology class. "My oddball," she added mentally, smiling.  
  
Apparently Aidan Cavendish had in fact been telling them they had arrived, for the car's engines turned off a minute later, and someone wrapped on the window with their knuckles.   
  
"Miss Ivy," he said when she lowered the window.  
  
"Which one are you?" she asked.  
  
"Thorpe, ma'am."  
  
"Then let's get this over with. We have a flight to catch."  
  
She got out of the car with Harley. "Wait for us," she told Aidan. He nodded, which for him was smarter than saying "yes".  
  
"Looks like they're closed," Harley said as they went toward the front door.  
  
"This entire part of town looks closed," Jim Apple told them. "Red light district looked a lot worse after they took the red lights away."  
  
Ivy tried the door, and sure enough, it was unlocked. They let themselves in.  
  
"Wasn't there a receptionist?" Harley asked.  
  
"Probably doesn't want his abject surrender to be seen," Ivy murmured.  
  
"I'm getting a bad feeling, Red," Harley said. "Let's catch our flight now, okay?"  
  
"If he's not here, fine," Ivy told her. "But I'm not walking out of here without my money if he is."  
  
And he was there. So was the money. If it hadn't been for the small fact that he was dead, they could have left in no time at all.  
  
"I just want to be the first to say that this really sucks," Harley growled while Ivy inspected the body.  
  
"Nightshade," she said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"He was poisoned with essence of nightshade," Ivy said confidently. "The signs are clear. It looks like it was injected into his neck."  
  
Harley stared at her. "You mean he was murdered with a plant-based poison?"  
  
"Absolutely," she replied. Then she looked back at Harley. "Wait, you don't think _I_ did it?"  
  
"Oh, of course not!" Harley told her.  
  
"Because if I had been going to kill him," she went on, "you know I would have included you."  
  
"I'm sure you would have."  
  
"Er, ladies?" Tim Thorpe suggested cautiously. "Might I suggest you not say that to the jury?"  
  
Ivy turned her head. "The jury?"  
  
"It doesn't matter what I think," Harley said. "But what are the cops going to think when they find out someone poisoned him with something from a plant?"  
  
"Someone who had accused him of keeping money from her?" Jim added.  
  
Ivy scowled. "This is just great," she hissed.  
  
"And whoever did do it," Tim said, "didn't take the money sitting invitingly on the desk. If you try to argue someone else did it, they'll ask why the real killers left the money behind."  
  
"We're being set up," Harley realized.  
  
"Possibly," the twins said in unison.  
  
There was a pause. The silence made it easier to hear what was going on outside.  
  
"Does anyone else hear sirens?" Harley asked.  
  
"We find the body, and the cops show up," Ivy groused. "What a stupid cliche."  
  
"While I don't question your innocence," Apple told her, "I really think you should leave now. If the cops find you here, they're going to arrest you."  
  
"And if they arrest you," Thorpe continued, "because of your history, they're probably going to have you held over for psychological observation."  
  
"At Arkham," his brother added. "And among the current residents of Arkham is - "  
  
"The Joker," Harley whispered.  
  
Ivy's cheeks burned. _He_ was behind this, she knew. He wasn't even going to bother breaking out; he was arranging for them to join him! "That's it," she snarled. "Jim, Tim. One of you take Harley and have Aidan bring you back to the hotel."  
  
"Red?" Harley asked, surprised.  
  
"I'll wait here with whoever's staying," she went on. "And after the police bring me to Arkham, I'm going to have one last conversation with that laughing freak."  
  
"Red, no!" Harley screamed. "He'll kill you!"  
  
"Trust me," she said in a voice like winter. "He won't."  
  
"Then you're gonna kill him, and you'll go to prison for infinity!"  
  
"I am _sick_ and _tired_ of his constant obsession with our lives," Ivy told her. "They'll have to let me out once they find out I didn't do it. By the time I leave Arkham, I'll have done whatever it took to leave us alone forever." Including, she thought bleakly, humiliating herself before him in the worst way, if that was what it would take.  
  
"But Red," Harley pleaded, "I can't let you go in there alone."  
  
"If I let you within a hundred yards of that monster," Ivy said quietly, "then I really will have something to blame myself for for the rest of my life."  
  
Harley was utterly miserable. "I love you," she said, tears running.  
  
The sirens were getting louder. "Damn it, would one of you please get her out of here?"  
  
"Come on, Miss Quinn," Tim Thorpe said, holding his bowler against his chest. "She'll be back soon."  
  
Ivy watched her go, looking pathetic with the man's arm around her shoulder. "Harley," she said. "Love you too."  
  
Harley didn't even turn around. Thorpe continued to hurry her out of there.  
  
"I'll have you released as soon as possible," Apple said.  
  
"Long as you give me enough time to smack some sense into that clown," she replied. She felt the tickets in the pocket of her jacket. "And I'm going to ram these tickets down his throat. It's all they're good for now."  
  
"The money's no good to you, either," Apple reminded her. "It's part of the crime scene."  
  
"There goes your contingency."  
  
He shrugged. "It was worth it to see the look on Dent's two faces when you walked in the room the other day."  
__________________________________  
  
"I want her observed for twenty-four hours, Doctor," Commissioner Gordon told her. "Unless she shows some sign of instability, I'm having her transferred to the women's penitentiary at Blackgate." He glanced back at Poison Ivy, pale in her everyday clothes, hands cuffed behind her back. She looked solemn, but otherwise she seemed the very picture of stability.  
  
"Of course, Commissioner," the doctor assured him. "We'll take very good care of her."  
  
He nodded sternly. "Where's the Joker being kept?" he asked.  
  
"Solitary," she said. "He'll stay there."  
  
"Don't do anything for my benefit."  
  
They both glanced over at Ivy. She looked back at them. "I won't be here long anyway," she continued. "I'm not afraid."  
  
"Considering what you did to him the last time you were alone together," Gordon said, "I think we need to keep you safe from each other."  
  
Her only reply was a sardonic chuckle.  
  
A dark shadow lurked on Arkham's rooftop, meanwhile. He put a hand to his ear.  
  
"I don't like this," Oracle was saying.  
  
"I'm not happy about Poison Ivy returning to our rogues' gallery either," Batman said, "but the police were able to stop her from escaping."  
  
"It's not that," she replied. "I'm not convinced she did it."  
  
He cocked his head. "Why?"  
  
"Police received an anonymous tipoff that Poison Ivy was going to kill the victim. Who made the call? There was no one else at the scene. There's over thirty thousand dollars in cash in Jones' office. Office workers are saying two men claiming to be Ivy's attorneys have been hanging around the office and going through the books."  
  
"Jones and Ivy must have had some sort of financial arrangement," he said, "for her to allow him to use her likeness in adult movies. She probably wanted more."  
  
"But preliminary reports are the only fingerprints belong to Jones. And no, Ivy wasn't wearing her gloves. She wasn't even wearing her outfit. And why wasn't Harley Quinn with her? And why did she surrender?"  
  
Batman had already noted her ordinary attire. "Anything else?"  
  
"They found a concealed camera in his office. They're bringing the tape back to headquarters. I should have a video feed almost as soon as they begin."  
  
"Good."  
  
"I hope she didn't do it," Oracle added. "I'd like to be able to hold onto the notion that these people can turn their lives around some day."  
  
He understood. The Ventriloquist's baffling decision to take up the dummy once more had bothered him. "They're putting Joker and Poison Ivy in the same building. What do you think will happen?"  
  
Oracle paused, evidently pondering the question. "His mania about those two has lasted a lot longer than usual. But she's survived so far. I think she'll manage."  
  
"I'll check on her later. Meanwhile, keep an eye on the investigation."  
  
"Gotcha. Tell her I said hi."  
  
"Who, Ivy?"  
  
"No, dummy. Selina."  
  
He stopped. "What?"  
  
"Robin told me. He's a little worried. He saw her boots in the Bat-cave. So unless you've developed a fetish for rogue footwear . . ."  
  
"It's nothing."  
  
"If there's something going on between you and - "  
  
"I said it's nothing," he interrupted before tuning out.  
  
Oracle sat back. "Cat in the mansion? Sounds like something to me," she said to dead air.  
  
To be continued . . . 


	5. Chapter Five

Title: Kiss From a Rose (5/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention.   
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: This takes place about 15-18 months after "It's Just Allergies" and "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", which you can read at FFN as well.  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
Summary: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn visit Gotham after being absent for over a year. A sequel to "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses". Nuff said.  
_______________________________  
  
Chapter 5  
  
"Figures he'd have a hidden camera in his office," Bullock said. "These guys make a lot of money taping women in dressing rooms."  
  
"His secretary said Poison Ivy was in the office the other day, along with Quinn and their attorneys - if that's what they're calling themselves," Gordon added dryly. "Do we have earlier tapes?"  
  
"Afraid not, Commish," Detective Murthy told him. He and his partner Stensland had caught the original dispatch. "Looks like he just taped over the old ones. Amateur job he installed himself."  
  
Commissioner Gordon sighed. He looked at Bullock, Montoya, and the two other detectives. "It's set up?"  
  
"We rewound through it when we found it," Detective Stensland spoke up. "This is the scene."  
  
"Play it."  
  
Montoya calmly pressed the button on the control in her hand.  
  
"No sound?" Gordon asked as the monitor showed the office door opening silently and Poison Ivy, decked out in green tights, entering the office.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Well, lookee here," Bullock said as Harley Quinn appeared behind Ivy, unmistakable in her red-and-black tassels. "Guess it was a two-woman job."  
  
"Harley must have escaped and left Ivy behind to take the blame," Stensland said.  
  
"Or Ivy sent her away to deflect the blame onto her," Montoya suggested.  
  
They watched as Johnny Jones' appeals, obvious by the defensive raising of his hands and the vigorous shaking of his head, fell on deaf ears. Jones grabbed the briefcase on his desk, which crime scene had found contained over thirty thousand dollars, and made an offering gesture. Ivy just stepped around him and slapped him across the face, causing the briefcase to fall back onto the desk.  
  
"That girl's cold," Murthy said, chuckling. "Never did have the chance to tangle with her before. Guess we'll all have plenty of opportunities in the future."  
  
Montoya's expression showed how not great she thought that idea was.  
  
Ivy and Harley had little difficulty in restraining the man in his chair, so that the redhead was easily able to extract a needle from her bag and jam it into his fleshy neck.  
  
"Why didn't Quinn take the money?" Montoya asked.  
  
"This wasn't about money," Bullock guessed. "Once they found out for sure he'd been hustling them, it turned into an execution."  
  
"Christ," Gordon muttered as Ivy pulled off Harley's tassels and masked and kissed her hungrily, while the dying man twitched in his chair.  
  
"Johnny Jones' last Ivy/Harley porno," Stensland leered. "Betcha he didn't know it was gonna become a snuff film."  
  
"That's not funny," Montoya murmured as she watched. Something was bothering her.  
  
Stensland shrugged. "You must be thrilled, Montoya. A couple girl criminals for you to bust."  
  
"Can it, Detective," Gordon retorted, while Renee had to bite her tongue to hold back a snarl. It seemed like her temper had been frayed for days now, ever since Harley had taunted her at the signing event.  
  
Her finger pressed the PAUSE button so hard that it went right into SLOW mode. The women on the video kissed each other in instant replay, attacking each other with all the gusto of a pair of Jerry Springer guests.  
  
"Dios," she whispered.  
  
"Renee?" Bullock asked.  
  
"It's not them," she said out loud. "Or at least, it's not Harley."  
  
"Whaddya mean it's not Harley Quinn?" Murthy remonstrated. "Who else would it be?"  
  
"Her hair."  
  
"What about it?"  
  
"It's blonde."  
  
"News flash," Murthy grumbled.  
  
"When I spoke to her at that sham signing," she said, "Harley's hair was brown."  
  
Bullock stared at her. "Was it?"  
  
"Well, you wouldn't remember. You were looking at Ivy." She frowned. "Remember when we saw her jogging before? What color was her hair? She had ponytails, remember?"  
  
Her partner thought back, and then his hand slowly went up to his temple. "It was brown," he remembered.  
  
"So?" Stensland asked. "So maybe she wore a wig. Or she dyed her hair. Maybe she used the brown hair to throw you off. Or hide her identity while she went jogging."  
  
"She went jogging with a pair of _hyenas_, Stensland," Montoya said patiently. "Not exactly trying to hide."  
  
"An impostor?" Gordon wondered, rubbing his chin.  
  
"That could be why they pulled her mask off," Renee pointed out on the tape. "Maybe they knew about the camera, and they wanted us to see her blonde hair. So we'd know it was the 'real' Harley. But they didn't know she changed her hair." She stopped the tape, bored by the women's over-the-top makeout session.  
  
"Is there anything else on that tape?" Gordon asked.  
  
Murthy shrugged uncomfortably. "They kiss for a while, then they leave."  
  
"Leave? Both of them? When do they come back?"  
  
"We, uh, didn't get that far yet."  
  
Bullock snorted. "Geez. Starsky and Hutch here."  
  
Gordon snapped a look at both of them. "I want a complete sweep of that man's office. Carpet fibers, hairs, everything. Anything that can give us guaranteed scientific proof that the women in those outfits are really the originals. And go through the rest of that tape, damn it!"  
__________________________  
  
"Are you getting this?" Oracle asked, amazed.  
  
"The detectives in that part of town aren't exactly known for their police work," Batman replied.  
  
"When you saw them . . ."  
  
"Her hair was brown. Unless she dyed it before the murder, that would strongly suggest it's not her," he admitted.  
  
"I'm running a check on their physiques," Oracle told him. "By analyzing their images on tape, I can check to see if they're the right height and build to be Harley and Ivy."  
  
He nodded, not that she could see it.  
  
"Hm, that's funny."  
  
"What?"  
  
"According to my data files, if that's the right Ivy, then she's had some major breast enlargement."  
  
Batman looked quizzical for a moment, before his eyes narrowed.  
____________________________  
  
Ivy felt unclean. Unclean in this dank mental hospital where she didn't belong, unclean in the patient clothing she'd sworn she'd never wear again. And she also felt useless, because they were keeping the Joker locked somewhere, safe from her.  
  
Mostly, though, she missed Harley. It had been a long time since the last night they hadn't slept next to each other.  
  
She went into the cafeteria for breakfast and, to her surprise, found it virtually empty. Only one man sat with his back to her, and as much as she could believe the Joker would arrange a little one-on-one like this, she knew it wasn't him.  
  
The man raised his head and turned around. Ivy's jaw stiffened.  
  
"Good - morning," the Mad Hatter said, startled. "I had heard we had a new guest, but I didn't expect you."  
  
"Jervis," she replied flatly. She still hadn't forgotten his role in the scheme to make her allergic to plants. Ivy had learned his involvement was somewhat against his will, but she didn't have to care. And so she didn't.  
  
He looked away, embarrassed. "I am so very sorry about . . . you know," he said quietly. He stirred his tea.  
  
"Save it," she growled. "Where is everybody?"  
  
"They changed the time for breakfast. You wouldn't know that."  
  
"I don't suppose so."  
  
Jervis turned to face her, and she turned her back on him. "Ivy."  
  
"I said shut it," she snarled, spinning around and jabbing a finger in his face. "You don't do that to one of your fucking own! Not when I was this fucking close to putting myself in a hole in the ground!" Ivy pulled back and inhaled deeply. "Forget I ever said that last part," she added coldly.  
  
"Forgotten," he said, stricken. He rubbed his hands absently. "Why are you back?"  
  
She walked away. "Harl and I were in town for a few days."  
  
"You're still together?"  
  
Ivy shot him a look.  
  
The Hatter held a hand up. "Forgive me, but we hear so little about you two."  
  
"Anyway, the Joker framed me for murder," she growled.  
  
He blinked. "The Joker? I find that highly unlikely."  
  
"Are you kidding?"  
  
"Well . . ." Jervis looked at his teacup.  
  
Ivy approached him again. "What?"  
  
"I'm not really supposed to say," he said cautiously.  
  
"Jervis. You owe me. You _really_ owe me."  
  
He sighed. "I implanted him with a chip."  
  
She grabbed him by the shoulders, and his teacup spilled onto the table. "You WHAT?!"  
  
The Hatter cringed. "He wasn't letting go! It was unbearable! Do you have any idea how much he obsessed over you two? How many crimes he committed that were connected to you? Did you hear about the time he went into a McDonald's and killed everyone who had a burger with ketchup and mustard?"  
  
Ivy let go. "He what?"  
  
"Ketchup and mustard? Red and yellow? As in hair color?"  
  
She stared at him, shocked. "But that's stupid. And all their burgers have ketchup and mustard." She should know, having once dismantled a trio of McDonald's stores with crushing vines. Damn the cattle industry . . .  
  
"Of course it's stupid!" he shouted. "He was making the rest of us look bad. He has this reputation - totally undeserved, you know - of being the most dangerous criminal in Gotham. With him acting like an idiot, we looked like idiots. And he was totally insufferable to be around, and we didn't really want to see the two of you dead."  
  
"So you hatted him."  
  
"Sort of. First I met with Penguin, Two-Face, Riddler, and Scarecrow. As you might recall," he told her, his head dropping, "nobody was speaking to me after the incident with you. They knew it could have been done to them, too. They shunned me. So," he explained, "I asked them for permission. A kind of one-time permit. I still had the technology. I figured it was the only way to right his course."  
  
Ivy nodded. "So they said yes."  
  
"They helped," Jervis said. "About seven of us ganged up on him and knocked him out. Our own brand of intervention, you could say. Then I implanted a chip deeply into the back of his neck."  
  
"And what is this chip telling him?"  
  
He grimaced. "It was difficult finding something that wouldn't be exposed. And his mind works oddly. But now he thinks he broke up with Harley, and then he humiliated you both in some sort of Dangerous Liaisons thing only he could dream up, and then you slunk out of town with your tail between your legs, never to darken our doors again."  
  
She rubbed her head. "When was this?"  
  
"About a month ago. I didn't want to tell you because, you know, the same thing happened to you, sort of."  
  
From the way he had failed to quote Lewis Carroll a single time, Ivy decided he was absolutely serious. Which meant that . . . "Someone else is trying to frame me."  
  
He shrugged. "I suppose there are any number of suspects."  
  
They were finally interrupted by an orderly. "Ms. Isley? You're wanted upstairs."  
  
Jervis said nothing as she walked past him. But he managed to catch the barely whispered "Thank you" she said as she passed him. When he was alone, he poured himself some more hot water. "Happy un-birthday," he murmured.  
________________________________  
  
"I told you I didn't do it," Ivy said calmly. "I'll be leaving Gotham now. I'm sure you must be ecstatic."  
  
"Not so fast, Ivy," Gordon told her. "We aren't convinced that you haven't hired a couple people to impersonate you, in order to provide you with an alibi."  
  
She gaped at him. "How lacking in self-respect do you think I am?"  
  
"And even if you are innocent, then someone is trying to frame you, and having you out of my city isn't going to help the situation," he added. "Sorry, but you're staying in town."  
  
Ivy's glare could have melted his glasses down to their frames. "And you're keeping me here then?"  
  
"The doctors say they can't keep you," he told her. "You're not crazy enough. And I have no reason to hold you at Blackgate. You'll be released. But you'll be monitored by my people."  
  
"Great," she seethed.  
  
"If it's any consolation," he added, "I will be ecstatic when you leave."  
  
It wasn't.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, when she was walking down the Arkham steps, he stopped her. "You'll have to contact your friend," he said. "We still don't know where she is. She's not at your hotel."  
  
"And wouldn't you like to know?" she sneered.  
  
Then the limousine pulled up in front. The window rolled down, and she could see Aidan's profile in the driver's seat.  
  
She smiled sweetly at him. "Don't you just love valet parking?"  
  
Gordon scratched his head in consternation as she traipsed down the rest of the steps and got in. The car drove away, but at least an unmarked car was following behind.  
  
"I don't know how you knew to pick me up back there," Ivy was saying meanwhile to the woman opposite her, "but thanks, Harl."  
  
"Don't mention it," she giggled.  
  
Ivy's head snapped up. "Wait. Who are you?"  
  
Electricity coursed through her veins as the other woman shot her with a stun gun. She collapsed onto the floor of their car.  
  
As she looked up, she saw only blonde ringlets framing a white face.  
  
"I mean it, don't mention it," she said. "In fact, don't mention anything else during our drive." Her fist shot out and knocked her unconscious.  
  
The blonde got on the phone. "Mindy? It's Chrissy. I told you this would be easy."  
  
To be continued . . . 


	6. Chapter Six

Title: Kiss From a Rose (6/6)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention.   
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: This takes place about 15-18 months after "It's Just Allergies" and "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", which you can read at FFN as well.  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
Summary: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn visit Gotham after being absent for over a year. A sequel to "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses". Nuff said.  
_______________________________  
  
Chapter 6  
  
"Never. Never."  
  
"You've been saying that quite a lot."  
  
"I will never, _never_ forgive you for making me sit through not one, but all THREE?"  
  
"I needed you to - "  
  
"Yes, I know," Oracle grumbled. "You wanted me to compare their body types to the security camera footage. And to do that, I had to watch over an hour's worth of lesbian porn. It was not very good porn, by the way. It was tawdry, even by their standards."  
  
Bruce smiled as he sat in the Batcave. "I take it you've seen good porn, by comparison."  
  
Her exasperated snarl could not be put into words.  
  
His tone became serious. "Did you get anything?"  
  
"They're very bad actresses. All six of them."  
  
"Anything else?" Bruce muttered.  
  
"The women who starred in the last two features - I got enough different camera angles to get a complete analysis of their bodies, and I don't think it's them. Height differences, mainly. The original actresses, I'm not completely sure, because the production values were the lowest. But it definitely could be them. The bust size on 'Ivy' is especially, um, notable."  
  
"Mindy Mattson and Chrissy Skyler," he recalled. "They vanished a few months after the movie's release. I heard they made a lot of money doing private shows. Then nothing - some even speculated the Joker made them disappear during that streak of Harley-related murders."  
  
"I heard Ivy was accusing the Joker of masterminding a frame," Oracle replied.  
  
He frowned. "A lunatic like that can draw a lot of attention. Sometimes away from the real threat."  
  
"Come on. You mean the porn stars are trying to frame their originals? What's the motive? Wait . . . uh, oh."  
  
"What uh oh?"  
  
"A limousine picked Poison Ivy up from Arkham a little while ago. It just lost the police tail."  
  
He sighed and pulled the mask on. He didn't go out as often during the day, but - "I'm going to find them," Batman said.  
  
"Roger. And Batman?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Never. You will never be forgiven. I'm going to buy more disinfectant now."  
____________________________  
  
Ivy looked down at her chest, at the way the ropes binding her upper body and arms to her chair looped around her breasts. "Let me guess," she said disdainfully. "You learned this on a movie set."  
  
Mindy Mattson leaned over her. The costume was obviously a second-rate imitation in a lighter shade of green Ivy hadn't worn in years. She was two inches too tall, and she obviously had implants. Other than that, she was basically Poison Ivy. trailer-park edition. "Well," she replied in a sultry tone of voice learned from a host of bad directors, "I've learned a lot about tying people up."  
  
"Obviously," Ivy sneered.  
  
"Sometimes," she went on, "you want to leave just the slightest bit of give in the ropes. That way the person can struggle out of them in an hour or so. Some people get their kicks watching girls do that. And then sometimes, when you have especially nasty plans, you want to make sure they're tied as tight as possible." She pulled slightly on the ropes. "Like now."  
  
Ivy had a little experience with locking people up herself, and she didn't need an adult film actress to tell her there was no slack in the ropes. She didn't know what "especially nasty" meant, but if this girl even slightly copped a feel, she was going to annihilate her.  
  
What was she thinking? She was _already_ going to annihilate the impostor.  
  
She looked at Harley, who was similarly bound opposite her. Chrissy Skyler lounged insolently nearby. "Holding up, Harl?"  
  
"Couldn't be better, Red," she replied. "But they're not working for the Joker."  
  
"I already know. I'll tell you about it later."  
  
"There _is_ no later," Mindy told them. "You're going to die today. You might as well tell her now."  
  
Ivy glared at her. "Why the hell are you going to all the trouble of framing me, kidnapping us, and now kill us? What did we ever do to you? We made you famous!"  
  
Chrissy suddenly laughed in her seat. "I told you, Mindy. Their egos are limitless. They always think it's about them!"  
  
"I'm not a native Gothamite," Mindy informed them. "Chrissy here knows more about you criminal types than me." She walked in a circle around Ivy. "See, this has absolutely nothing to do with you. In fact, the two of you coming back here totally screwed with our plans. In _fact_," she said, "that's why we have to kill you."  
  
Ivy and Harley looked dubiously at each other. "Huh?" they both asked.  
  
"We're not trying to _frame_ you," Mindy said with exaggerated slowness. "We're going to _be_ you. At least, we will when you're gone again and you stop trying to hog the spotlight."  
  
"I guess it's true," Ivy said after a moment. "You don't have to be a brainless bimbo to be a porn star. But it helps."  
  
Mindy cuffed her on the back of her head.  
  
"You better not do that again," Harley hissed at her.  
  
"Oooh," Mindy said. "You two have been getting in our way for days. Well, we liked you better when no one knew where you were, and we'll like you even more when no one knows where the bodies are buried."  
  
"So let me get this straight," Ivy said. "You want to be _us_?"  
  
Chrissy nodded. "All those men slobbering over us when we did those small shows. You can _never_ look at a man the same way when he's completely under the sway of his own penis."  
  
Ivy mentally conceded that she had a point.  
  
"Even some of those big and scary Freaks," Mindy added. "They said they wished you were more like us."  
  
When she found out who among the Iceberg crowd was letting their penises say such stupid things for them, Ivy was going to put poison sumac in their pants.  
  
"And then when you two seemed like you didn't want to be criminals any more," Chrissy went on, "we decided we could do it better."  
  
"But just when we were ready to pull the first big heist we'd been planning, that sleaze Jonesin announced we would be appearing in a new movie for him," Mindy said, snorting.  
  
"Here we were, trying to reinvent ourselves, and that loser reminded everyone who we were. We didn't know it was you two tramps pretending to be us; we thought it was just a publicity stunt."  
  
"Thought you'd like to impersonate us? Now you'll see what it's like the other way."  
  
Harley began snoring.  
  
"I really hope this is getting somewhere," Ivy said, bored. "Because if you framed us because you were angry we pretended to be you one night . . ."  
  
"We were NOT framing you!" Mindy screamed at her. "We were killing him for payback, but we were the new Ivy and Harley. But because YOU were in town, everybody thought YOU did it. You fucking ruined our debut!"  
  
Ivy's eyes popped. "You mean - we had absolutely nothing to do with last night? And now you're pissed because our names are in the papers?"  
  
"We're going to take your places in Gotham's most famous criminals," Chrissy whined, "and you tripped us at the starting gate. That's why you have to die. They'll respect us when we replace the old versions - permanently."  
  
Harley opened an eye and looked at Ivy. Ivy looked back.  
  
Then they burst into laughter.  
  
"What's so funny?!" Mindy asked shrilly.  
  
Harley tried to tell her, but she couldn't stop laughing.  
  
"You want to be us?" Ivy said, coughing. "Not that you ever could, but sure, go ahead and try!"  
  
"You think the others _like_ copycats?" Harley asked. "They hate them! They get that all the time. Gosh, Ivy, now I know how Eddie feels about that Cluemaster guy."  
  
"Batman shouldn't even be on their radar," Ivy sneered. "The Rogues will take you apart. Look at you - a cheap imitation. You don't even have the look, let alone the ability. And the press! Enjoy _their_ fickle hearts."  
  
"Remember the first time they had an artist draw my picture for the local tabloids?" Harley asked, giggling. "They forgot the tassels and the mask . . ."  
  
"And those hideous black pants!" Ivy remembered. "You looked like an idiot!"  
  
"Remember when they said you killed Clayface . . ."  
  
"Or when Clayface killed Catwoman . . ."  
  
"Or when I was going to become a writer of romance novels!"  
  
"Harlequin stories!"  
  
They weren't even paying attention to their "replacements" any more. They just laughed and laughed.  
  
When Ivy finally got control of herself again, Mindy was standing in front of her, shaking with rage. "You're just jealous," she hissed.  
  
"Honey," Ivy said, realizing this for the first time, "I'm not going to miss anything about this town when I get home. All I need is sitting over there."  
  
"Nice people - when they're medicated, anyway," Harley added.  
  
Mindy pointed the gun at Ivy's head. "Then you can be together in hell."  
  
Ivy sighed. "You know, I really wish I could see the look on your faces when the Rogues got you alone."  
  
"But you're not going to. Nobody's going to rescue you."  
  
"I know. Who do you think we are, Batgirl and Robin? Besides, we're not going to see it because we're going to get you first."  
  
"Now see, that's what I heard," Mindy said. "You don't have to be a loon to be a criminal in Gotham, but it helps."  
  
"You know how we were, I don't know, bonding? Or at least, sharing secrets on bonding?" Ivy asked. "Because in porn movies, the actors don't really want to escape. That's why they're _actors_. So the directors can get a little sloppy."  
  
"Sloppy?"  
  
"Yeah, like not tying their feet."  
  
Ivy heaved herself back, tipping her chair over. One leg kicked upwards as she fell, knocking the gun out of Mindy's hand. She landed on her back, still tied to her chair, unfortunately.  
  
Fortunately, Harley had pulled herself to her feet, arched over by the chair. But her long legs enabled her to run, screaming, headlong into Mindy, causing them both to smash into a pile. Harley emerged first, still tied to the back of the chair. The seat and legs, however, were broken in pieces on the floor.  
  
"And using cheap wooden chairs," Harley said. She kicked Mindy in the ribs. "And that was for hitting Red."  
  
Chrissy then tackled her from behind, sending them both careening into the next room.  
  
"And your partner's reaction time is truly lousy," Ivy told Mindy. "When something goes wrong, you can't just gape in disbelief for two minutes." Harley was right, the chairs _were_ cheap. The back had partially splintered, and she was rubbing the ropes against the edges.  
  
Groaning, Mindy struggled into a position above Ivy. "You fucking bitch," she snarled. "I'm . . ."  
  
"Don't talk," Ivy said. "You're too stupid. It's hurting my ears." She snapped the wooden plans underneath her back and brought her arms up. Grabbing Mindy by the hair, she pulled her head down and headbutted her. Mindy shrieked as she fell down again. Ivy looked at the red hair that had come loose in her hands. "Extensions," she said scornfully.  
  
Despite their rough talk (and equally rough former careers), they were obviously much too soft. Ivy was on her feet and shrugging out of her ropes even before Mindy was standing again. Even if she had been standing, Ivy saw she wouldn't have had to put up a sweat. She spent several minutes pummeling her impostor into complete (no pun intended) submission - more than was necessary to defeat her, but just enough for her own liking.  
  
Breathing heavily, she turned her head. The sounds of fighting had ceased in the other room. "Harley?" she called, momentarily worried.  
  
Harley emerged from the other room. "What?"  
  
"Well, how is she?"  
  
She looked down at the shapeless mass that was recognizable only for its artificially enhanced bosom. "I think she's used to catfights being a little more evenly matched. Did you have to tenderize her?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Works for me," Harley replied, shrugging.  
  
"What happened with Aidan, anyway?"  
  
"They paid him. And he said he was tired of being treated like he was deaf, too."  
  
"He _said_ that?"  
  
"He wrote it on a piece of paper, anyway. Can we go to the South Pacific now?"  
  
Ivy growled. That meal-mouthed Englishman was going to die seven deaths . . . she saw the look on Harley's face. As she often had to remind herself during those fits of vengeful, homicidal rage, there were priorities. And then there were priorities. "Sure," she said. "What's she going to do if we're gone an extra few days? Fire us?"  
  
"And the babies. We can't leave the babies."  
  
"Of course not, they're with our stuff."  
____________________________  
  
"I'm surprised you don't burst into flame in the sun," Bullock said in the doorway.  
  
"They're gone," Batman said, crouching over Mindy.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. They were here, but now they're gone."  
  
Bullock came in and looked around. "Wait a minute. You mean you didn't do this?"  
  
He stood up. "It was like this when I arrived." He picked up the frayed ropes. "It appears these impostors may have abducted Harley and Ivy and brought them here."  
  
"Christ," Renee said as she came in behind Bullock. "Mattson and Skyler must have really been insane."  
  
Batman glanced at her. "How did you know it was them?"  
  
"Their attorneys called us and wanted to know where Ivy was being held, since she'd been released from Arkham. And we caught their chauffer an hour ago. He confessed that they paid him to help these two."  
  
"Commish told them not to go anywhere," Bullock said.  
  
"We found the killers," Batman replied. "Did you want them hanging around afterwards?"  
  
"I don't want you hanging around my crime scene either."  
  
"Don't worry, I'll be gone before you know it."  
  
Bullock glanced at Montoya. "As opposed to letting us watch like you always do?"  
  
Renee sighed and pointed past him. "He's gone."  
  
"Frigging flair for the dramatic."  
____________________________  
  
"Red? Could you pass the lotion?"  
  
Ivy sat up, mindless of the fact that she'd untied her bikini top. But then, the only other animals on the island were the hyenas, and they'd never shown the slightest interest beyond food and drooling on them. She snapped her fingers.  
  
A root snaked out of the jungle encroaching on the golden sands, picked up the lotion (homemade, naturally), and brought it to Ivy.  
  
"Thanks," she said, "but I can handle it from here."  
  
The plant retreated.  
  
"I wonder how Mindy and Chrissy are doing," Harley wondered, trying to lie still instead of writhing in pleasure at her touch.  
  
"I have stopped wondering about anything in Gotham," Ivy replied.  
  
"They weren't insane, just stupid," Harley recalled. "So they wouldn't have been sent to Arkham."  
  
"No cushy mental hospital for them," Ivy said. "After all those women's prison flicks, it's their chance to be on a reality show."  
  
"Um, Red? Your hands aren't moving."  
  
"Oops. Sorry."  
  
" . . . ahhhhh . . ."  
  
"So, happier with the original?"  
  
Harley grinned. "Definitely. Although I wonder if Mindy would have been more understanding when I wore her outfits."  
  
"Trust me, Harl. We never would have fit into her tops."  
  
The brown-haired girl tossed a look over her shoulder. "I like you better without clothes anyway."  
  
"Like this?"  
  
"Mmmmm."  
  
The End. 


End file.
